Chapman had been reading a book on China. It contrasted the immense natural wealth of China with the poverty of her people. In this situation he described possibilities of making money, and excitedly discussed the matter with Keats.
‘If we make a journey into the interior‚’ he explained, ‘for once everything will be in our favour. The whole continent is littered with priceless antiques in gold, ivory, jade, silver, and porcelain. Since the people are wretchedly poor, they will sell them to us for practically nothing. Moreover, the cost of eating there is practically nil. It is the chance of a lifetime!’
At first Keats demurred somewhat. He knew that China was infested with bandits and, apart from that, he loathed rice. But he was won over to the proposition by the knowledge that Chapman would pay all expenses and that there seemed a genuine opportunity for making big money, which would naturally be shared fifty-fifty. Arrangements for the expedition were put in hand forthwith.
After exhaustive and futile attempts to make lucrative deals in the big cities and towns, they decided that their true interest lay in the ancient rural wildernesses where the most primitive poverty still existed. Accordingly, with modest mule train and retinue of coolies, they set out for the interior.
After long travel in strange and lonely places notably destitute of objets d’art, they came one morning upon an astounding spectacle. It was a public memorial probably four thousand years old – a gigantic teapot and set of teacups in the open air. The travellers, wildly excited, enquired who owned the monument. It was in the custody of a local but very impoverished mandarin. Sending for ladders, Keats climbed into the huge vessels with certain tools and geological instruments. After minute examination, he gave a frenzied roar at Chapman from inside one of the cups. All the vessels were made of absolutely priceless porcelain.
The pair interviewed the moneyless mandarin on the spot He was most courteous but could not see his way to sell the monument to the honourable travellers for less than £100. With pretended reluctance, the travellers agreed. A deed of transfer was signed and a coolie despatched to the bank of the nearest town for the cash.
The following day Keats made an appalling discovery – something possibly well known to the mandarin. Each of the cups alone weighed about two thousand tons, and the teapot weighed perhaps six thousand tons. To move the vessels would be quite impossible, no matter what gear or transport could be got When Keats hastily told the mandarin that he could not go on with the transaction, the latter reproached him with such dishonourable and dishonest conduct. What excuse had he for such behaviour?
‘I was in my cups when I made that offer,’ Keats said.